


What You Learned in Your Last Life

by buttercups3



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Bass POV, Gay Sex, M/M, MILOE!!!, Missing scene in 2.07 sometime after the bombing and before the mirror signaling, PWP or as close as I come to that, Reborn Bass, that doesn't make sense but season 2 doesn't leave enough time for sex so deal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 02:17:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1209103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercups3/pseuds/buttercups3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Recovering from his execution, Bass discovers he has an unexpected bedfellow. Miloe smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Learned in Your Last Life

**Author's Note:**

> So this is admittedly not my best smut, but the boys wanted to have some sex, and I wasn't about to stop them. And now that I've given my deformed child this ringing endorsement...enjoy?

Bass’ mouth is a desiccated sponge, his jaw clenched and painful. As he fumbles blindly for the water Rachel set on the nightstand earlier that morning, his eyelids still sewn together, he perceives ambient heat against his back and the heaviness of an arm draped over his waist. Of course he recognizes Miles’ arm hair beneath the cuff of a rolled linen sleeve; of course he knows the even puffs of his best friend’s slumber. But he’s still shocked. Sure, Miles seemed happy enough to see him alive this morning, but then those bombs went off in town and he was gone. 

Still loopy from the drugs Rachel jacked him up on, Bass fumbles for the glass and rattles it precariously to his lips, finally opening his eyes against the slanting light of late afternoon. All sunshine feels precious to the man who’s been underground. The room smells weirdly of birthday – burned-out candles – and Bass decides that’s terribly fitting, being as he’s come back from the dead. Just as the cool water begins to trickle down his throat (though frankly, all the water around Willoughby tastes like mud), his unexpected bedfellow stirs. It becomes obvious in a second that Miles never intended to be caught sleeping next to him, because Bass feels an enormous heave as Miles tries to backpedal out of bed. 

Firmly, Bass stays Miles’ forearm and then loosens it as a vision intrudes of that look Miles gave him when they first reunited under the overpass. Bass still hasn’t adequately parsed it, except to have a vague impression of how sensitive Miles has become to his presence – as if Bass tore off an ancient scab and it won’t stop oozing.

He has no idea what to say that won’t spook Miles. He settles on, “Don’t get up. I’m cold.” And it’s true – his body is all out of whack. He’s dimpled with gooseflesh and shivers spasmodically every so often, but his head burns – is bubbly like a pot of boiling water. He pulls Miles’ arm back around his abdomen, and Miles doesn’t respond but neither does he resist.

So maybe Bass can push this a step further. “So you _did_ miss me.” He feels the stubbled cheek settle against his neck and a hushed sigh. Miles appears to be bone weary. Bass wonders if this is the first time he’s slept in days. “Where are Rachel and Charlie?” 

“In town.”

“Many casualties from that explosion?”

“Yep.”

“Sorry.” Bass rolls over to fully digest Miles’ bottomless eyes, and he’s shocked to see they’re watery. He doesn’t dare to hope that those nascent tears are for him rather than the victims of Willoughby. Threading his fingers through the back of Miles’ short, chestnut hair, Bass whispers, “You want to make love?”

He doesn’t know why he phrased it that way, but it came out before he thought it through, just like everything else. Apparently, resurrection doesn’t fix your personality defects. Miles clamps together his eyelids, his dark eyelashes little spikes.

And then of course, Bass gets defensive, because that’s always what comes next. “Hey, you’re in bed with me. I’m high off my ass, so maybe we could just…I’ll probably forget about it in the morning and won’t even hold you to it.”

Miles cracks open an eye under an arched brow and pulls Bass by the chin into his dry lips. They haven’t kissed in so long, Bass is startled by the intimacy, and they start awfully slow, almost diffidently. Miles flicks out his tongue first, and the familiar taste of whiskey and grit ambushes Bass with sorrow for everything lost between them. He chokes briefly, and Miles looks startled and worried; but almost instantly, Bass pulls him in for a deeper kiss, Miles’ hands now migrating all over Bass’ face, just like they always did – exploring, planting imaginary flags.

Aside from bare feet and exposed forearms, Miles is otherwise fully dressed, while Bass hasn’t a stitch on him. Despite his wooziness, Bass makes relatively quick work of the line of buttons before him, but when he reaches Miles’ fly, Miles lurches violently away.

Bass rests a hand on Miles’ fur-lined stomach, exposed between the flaps of his opened shirt. _Calm down_ , he internally instructs the skin. “When was the last time you were with a man, Miles?” is what he asks. He hopes it doesn’t sound possessive, needy.

Bass watches the Adam’s apple shift. “You. It was always only you.” Christ, Miles is hoarse. And his eyes are still leaky.

Bass gulps painfully in response, because it makes him sad how seldom Miles shares his body, even if he is relieved to know how much of Miles he alone has claimed. But Miles can’t separate his passion from his sex – he’s rather like a chick in that regard. And it does make Bass feel special to have Miles shaking under his touch right now in desire from all the deprivation, Miles’ finger migrating down Bass’ back toward his –

“Uh, Miles. I can’t. I’m all messed up from what Rachel gave me. So, not that – not right now.” Here’s something unromantic: Bass is constipated as hell. Miles’ dick in his ass would kill him. For a moment, he’s mad at Rachel for executing the world’s most sadistic rescue.

Miles grunts and turns his back to Bass. Bass is floored. Is Miles offering his butt to him, after all these years and all they’ve been through? Bass actually gets a little teary at the prospect. But if it’s been as long as Miles said, this is going to take some finesse, especially with no lube.

Bass wets his fingers and slides them back and forth between Miles’ cheeks, drinking in the sounds of Miles folding for him. He senses Miles’ right hand busy on himself. It strikes Bass as very odd that neither of them have even touched each other’s dicks yet. His brain is so fuzzy that he gets completely lost pondering this, and finally Miles turns back over to face him.

“What?” Miles asks, concerned.

Unexpected, Bass explodes into a sob that unleashes a flood. For a moment, everything is Miles – their shared love and profound hate and fury that nearly shattered the world. And then it’s Bass’ execution – the look in Rachel’s eye when she prepared his needle and Miles in that bank vault divulging just how subterranean betrayal can be. And now here Bass is, alive and in Miles’ arms, and _why aren’t they touching each other_? Why aren’t they doing this right?

Miles folds Bass forward into his wiry arms against the grizzled chest. Once Bass stops heaving so much, he realizes they’re both crying. This is as close as they’ll ever get to _I’m sorry_. Probably tomorrow they’ll continue to wage the new, circumscribed version of their war, but for right now, they are sorry and they love each other.

“Miles, please touch me,” Bass hears himself beg. _Fuck_ , he can never hold himself back, can he?

Miles pulls back, his eyes red, and wipes his hand across his nose so that when he actually puts it on Bass’ penis, it’s wet with snot. But Bass doesn’t mind. Miles wrings him nice and hard, and when Bass gets close, Miles lies back and fucking opens his legs for him, rewetting his own hole in invitation.

Bass drenches his cockhead with spit and shivers at how clenched the muscles are at Miles’ opening. Bass can’t even get his _tip_ all the way in, though it’s obvious Miles is trying to relax for him. Maybe it makes sense this way – stuck in Miles only the minutest amount – they have to rebuild brick by brick if they’re going to have anything together. So Bass fucks him just like that, massaging the base of his own dick and barely pushing against that tight ring so that he doesn’t break it.

Bass orgasms startlingly fast anyway from all the stimulation on his head, his insides bunching up and then unraveling – losing time and then coming to, to watch his own pearly cum dribble back out of Miles. They both moan – Miles rolling his cock and balls in one big hand, while he relishes Bass’ release.

Bass slides up next to his companion and pries loose the silky, familiar erection from Miles’ fingers. Really, no one else’s dick will do. It’s like Miles was made for him – his straight, thick cock, shiny at the tip with the tiniest imperfection on the underside, a little bump Bass is convinced only he has noticed. He gets completely lost in feeling Miles up, and Miles totally caves to him – lolling and _uhhhing_ and being the damnedest, sexiest creature alive.

As Miles comes in Bass’ fist, Bass bends down to graze his tongue back and forth over the pulsing slit. When he retracts to watch Miles bite his lip and pull his own hair in ecstasy, Bass finds he can’t let this moment go, refuses to release the warm, wet cock in his hand. He continues to explore its perfect contours, occasionally jacking it to Miles’ peeped: “Uh! Stop, stop!” Each time Bass jerks him, Miles grasps Bass’ wrist, but something in Bass still aches and he keeps going.

“Uh, Bass, Bass, Bass, no more, I can’t, Uhhh, Babe, no more!” Miles groans in one breath. Miles probably has no fucking idea what he’s just said – he’s strung out on over stimulation – but it warms Bass’ chest. Miles called him _Babe_ again.

Satisfied at last, Bass thuds onto his back, still holding – though very gently now – that softening dick. When Miles rolls his head onto Bass’ shoulder, Bass remembers how sweaty Miles’ hair gets from sex.

He feels Miles press lips to his clavicle. The ragged, muffled voice mutters, “You know this isn’t what we are anymore, right?”

_Shit_. The man can’t let anyone enjoy anything. “Yeah. I know.”

“But…” Miles continues, and this makes Bass’ mouth fall open, “When you died, it was the worst day of my life. And this…this could be one of the best.”

Bass pinches the bridge of his nose to subdue the drug fog. “You sure know how to send a guy a mixed signal.”

“Yeah. I’m a tough lay.”

“That’s an understatement,” Bass sniffs. “Let’s get Rachel to put me back in that coffin so I can die happy this time.”

“Uh-uh.”

“Why not?”

“Need you,” Miles says simply, and Bass lets himself drift off, shaking his head and stroking Miles’ still-damp hair. Nothing could be stupider than being in love with your best friend. He supposes Rachel brought him back just to teach him what he didn’t learn the first time around.


End file.
